


Rocket Knows That He's a Weapon (But So Is Peter)

by fallenfromluster



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Pre-Slash, bros being bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenfromluster/pseuds/fallenfromluster
Summary: "I thought it was over, lights out, until I noticed the case next to me. It was a polished gunmetal-grey, and I could see the reflection of my face across the label, ‘The XJ77 Rocket Launcher.’ I smiled, whipped it out, and fired. I watched those idiots burn. That’s when I knew who I was. That's when I knew my name."Rocket thinks he's weapon, but Peter let's him know that he's not alone.





	Rocket Knows That He's a Weapon (But So Is Peter)

Rocket had this _thing_ about weapons. One particularly stupid Xeronian had even called it a fetish, but his opinion didn’t count because he’d also told Rocket that he wasn’t, “Afraid of no pet,” and lost a hand for it. Usually when Rocket stopped by a planet he picked up a few choice guns—big, sleek rifles that just screamed menace—but on this last mission, boy had he hit the jackpot. The Krechians had hired the Guardians to kick some bad customers out of the colonial armory on their newest acquisition in the Saggittarius Arm. Quill bad been skeptical about the mission; the Krechians’ acquisition methods were less than friendly and Quill had been bugging the team about heading in a more legitimate direction after saving the galaxy for a second time. But Rocket wasn’t going to give up his outlaw ways just yet and most of all, he wanted in that armory. If, after securing the armory, a few weapons made it back to the Milano along with the payment, who would care? He convinced the group to go on the mission through the tried and true method of lying about Groot voting yes.

Landing the Milano had been easy, and involved surprisingly little bickering with Quill. Their relationship had improved in the aftermath of Ego’s destruction and Yondu’s sacrifice, and as Rocket eased the throttles back, he even gave Quill a quick smile. He wasn’t ready to compliment the humie on his flying anytime soon, oh hell no, but even he’d admit that they were in sync now. The planet itself was nice enough, Rocket supposed, with blue skies and a purple tree canopy that seemed to stretch forever in all directions. The Krechian military base, however, was one hell of an eyesore. Concrete landing pads painted dull yellow, squat bunkers, and a cube of rusty metal five stories tall that Rocket presumed was the armory. Too top off this assault on his eyes, Rocket could see why the Krechians hadn’t just gone in themselves: a glowing orange forcefield composed of shimmering hexagons in the air, impenetrable, or so these idiots thought. Rocket laughed; this was going to be easier than he thought.

Peter swiveled his head, and caught Rocket with an expression of disbelief and annoyance. “What’re you laughing at Rocket? Don’t you see that? How the hell are we supposed to get through? I don’t think we can dig under it.”

“I concur with Quill. We did not bring shovels,” Drax added just as helpful and emotive as ever.

Rocket dragged his hands down his face in exasperation and huffed, “Just trust me on this. I got a little something I been working on. And before you ask, Quill, no, it’s not a bomb,” Rocket said shooting an accusatory glance at Quill, before mumbling, “This time.”

“I am Groot!”

“Don’t scold me. That only happened once. How was I supposed to know that the shield reflected both projectiles _and_ heat?” Rocket hissed to Groot—the tree had grown quite the mouth on him these past two months. “Anyway, after shooting at those shielded Sakaarans last time, I got frustrated. I don’t like it when my bullets don’t do nothing, so I made a shield-breaker. Think of it like,” Rocket twirled his paws in the air a few times before continuing, “a vacuum for shields.”

“Wow, Rocket, that’s actually really cool!” Rocket looked over almost expecting Quill to be mocking him, but he seemed earnest.

“Uh, thanks Quill.” Rocket still wasn’t used to compliments from people, much less Stardork, but it wasn’t unpleasant. After unloading all the components next to the glowing wall, Rocket laid out the plan standing over a map of the base, “Gamora, Drax, head to the opposite side of the compound with Groot. Once I turn this thing on, a hole will open in the force-field there. Once it’s open, get in and find the shield generator. You won’t need finesse; just hit it until it shuts down. Me and Quill here will stay by the shield-breaker. It’s gonna produce quite the show, so most of the people inside should come over. When the shield goes down, we’ll mop ‘em up. Got it?”

While the rest of the team jogged away, Quill and Rocket finished assembling the shield-breaker, which looked like a cobalt blue radar dish. Rocket plugged it into the power source, and pressed the button. Immediately, brilliant white light started pouring from the shield into the receiver dish and lightning danced across the hexagons. Worried looking rebels started clustering around the far side of the shield. “Ha, check out these idiots Quill. They have no idea what’s about to hit ‘em,” Rocket scoffed gesturing with his thumb toward the dome.

“Yeah, Rocket, they have no idea they’re dealing with Rocket and Starlord.” Rocket had started pairing up with Peter more and more on missions. It was odd not working with Groot, but while not as small as he once was, Groot was still too short to be a good vantage point for Rocket. The first time Rocket had launched himself onto Quill’s shoulder holding his rifle, Quill had fallen over backwards. Since then they’d gotten a bit more rhythm, and Quill didn’t complain as much.

The shield was flickering brighter and brighter, when Rocket said, “Okay Peter, better put in your earplugs. It’s about to get _loud_ ,” emphasizing the last word with a purr. Rocket unholstered his plasma carbine, and climbed Peter’s back just as the shield went down completely. Like most gunfights involving Rocket, it ended quickly. Plasma arced through the air leaving streaks and smoking ruin. The fight was less frantic than many, especially now that he trusted Quill to shoot the right targets and not knock him off his flarking shoulders. He _lived_ to be in a fire fight. Life was filled with doubt, confusion, and annoying humies, but once he pulled the trigger everything was clear. But the thrill and calm faded as soon as the rebels surrendered.

The team quickly secured the armory and radioed the Krechians.  Rocket knew he didn’t have much time, so he made up an excuse to check on the shield generator and started walking away from the group. Peter shot him a meaningful look that told Rocket that Quill knew exactly what he was doing, but didn’t say anything. Rocket got the feeling that Quill understood that a bit of theft would always be part of Rocket’s life.

The weapons room was beautiful. Crate after crate of the finest military hardware in the quadrant. He trailed his paw along the boxes as he read the labels: Cutter Class IV Laser Cannon, Total Spectrum Annihilator Ray, Leveler Propelled Explosive System, Electric Arc Canon, and a Gravix Corporation Rocket. He hesitated, seeing his name, remembering the first time he saw his name engraved on a weapons crate. He shook off the memory, and gathered up as much loot as he could carry before retreating to the Milano.

 

 

Later, back on the Milano, Rocket yanked on a wrench letting out a string of unintelligible curses when it didn’t budge. He had to disassemble the guns in order to figure out how they worked, then make them bigger, badder, and more explosive. The Annihilator Ray—who couldn’t love a name liked that—he’d nabbed seemed particularly promising. Rocket almost giggled at the thought, before he saw Quill standing in the door eating an apple, and quieted down immediately. No way he was going to let Quill see that. Rocket had gotten used to Quill’s presence. It was his ship after all, but it still unnerved him that Quill could sneak up on him despite his clomping humie walk. Rocket worked in silence for a few more minutes, constantly aware that Peter was behind him, before he sauntered up. Rocket called out, “Quill, hand me that 54 bantar laser spanner.”

“Rocket, we both know I’ve been here enough times to know that’s a not a thing. There’s no such thing as a laser spanner. It’d just burn through the bolts!” Rocket sighed, and shook his head. The joke had worked the first three times, but Quill had gotten wise. _“I said a laser spanner. This is a laser cutter, Starmunch!”_ Rocket held back a chuckle at the memory of Peter fumbling through Rocket’s toolboxes as Rocket had pretended to get increasingly irate.

 “What do you really need?” For a second this question stunned Rocket, because Peter’s tone made it seem deeper than a question about a tool should, but he shrugged off the thought.

“See that six pronged thing with a glowing motor sitting on the far right of the table? That’s what I need. I think these bolts are magnetically secured.” Peter grabbed the strange tool, then dropped it in Rocket’s waiting paw. Rocket mumbled a quick, “Thanks, Quill,” before returning to work. The silence stretched between them, Rocket undoing the bolts one by one and Quill, well Rocket didn’t know what the hell Quill was doing. He wasn’t leaving and he wasn’t saying anything; it was getting awkward.

“Wadaya want, Quill?” Rocket just heard the apple crunch a few more times.

“I got a question for ya.”

“Okay.” Rocket rolled his eyes in anticipation of whatever nonsense Stardork was about to ask him this time.

“How’d you choose the name, Rocket?” Rocket stopped his work and stiffened.

Peter seemed to sense Rocket was uncomfortable, and stuttered out a quick, “It’s cool Rocket. Ya don’t have to tell me anything. I can go,” waving his hands in apology.

“No, Quill, Peter, I can tell you. You know I got made on Half-World, right?” The words were coming out slower.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, man. I know you don’t like to talk about that time.” Quill looked uncomfortable, shuffling back and forth between legs. Two months ago, maybe even three weeks ago, Rocket might have felt ashamed, but he knew Peter wasn’t uncomfortable because he didn’t want to hear this, but because he didn’t want Rocket to hurt.

“Well, they never gave me no name, just a sample designation. That’s even worse than being an animal.” Rockets voice dropped, “It’s so much worse. 8. 9. P. 1. 3,” each letter and number dripped with venom. “During my escape, the building was coming down, thanks to yours truly.” Rocket puffed his chest out at this, then spoke louder, “But the guards were blocking the way to the ships. I thought it was over, lights out, until I noticed the case next to me. It was a polished gunmetal-grey, and I could see the reflection of my face across the label, ‘The XJ77 **Rocket** Launcher.’ I smiled, whipped it out, and _fired_. I watched those idiots burn. That’s when I knew who I was. That’s when I knew my name” By the end, Rocket was shouting, then panting. After watching him for a few moments, Peter stepped closer, but not into Rocket’s personal space. Peter had learned.

He was quiet when he spoke, “Rocket, do you think you’re a weapon?”

“Well, yeah, of course I’m a flarking weapon.” Rocket turned away. “What do you think they made me for? I’m an asshole, and shooting is the only thing I’m good at.” Rocket went back to the parts on the table in silence. He expected to hear Peter walk away. He’d half shouted his story, and he thought Peter would be put off. They’d made some ground since Rocket had that final talk with Yondu, but it wasn’t easy. Rocket didn’t do feelings. But Rocket never heard Peter walking away, even after a minute.

Peter whispered, “Rocket, could I,” took a long breath, “could I touch your shoulder?” That was Peter for you, only one who asked before touching Rocket.

“Sure, Quill, sure.” Peter’s hand was tentative as it came down into his fur. And he didn’t try to squeeze or hold rocket, just left it sitting on his shoulder. Rocket appreciated that. He was a bit surprised by how comforting it was.

“You’re not the only one who’s a weapon,” Peter said softly. Rocket looked confused, and was about to say something, before Peter said, “Ego, my ‘father’,” Peter did airquotes which Rocket had only just figured out—thought the guy just had a nervous tick for a long time, “made me, made thousands of other kids, just to consume the galaxy. You saw what he wanted to do. It was what I was meant for.”

“Peter, that’s,” Rocket tried to say, but was suddenly cut off.

“Let me finish. Gamora was made and twisted by Thanos to be his weapon, and Drax, well his name is Drax the Destroyer, so that goes without saying. We’re all weapons. The Guardians are an arsenal.”

Rocket laughed, a real laugh; he knew Peter could tell. “We’re all a bunch of sickos ain’t we, Starlord.”

“You called me, Starlord!” Peter shouted excitedly.

“Well don’t get used to it.” Rocket felt a bit embarrassed whenever he called Peter that. “So, are you going to help me with the rest of this or what?”

“Of course, Rocket.”

 

 

The work went long into the night. The Krechians turned out to be pretty good with their anti-tamper methods, but Rocket was better. Peter had started yawning and hour ago, and was rubbing his eyes every few minutes, so Rocket finally relented. He’d gone soft. “We’re done. It’s going to be fun showing the galaxy all my toys,” rubbing his paws together, trying to be as sinister as possible.

“Okay Rocket, you’ll show them.” Peter rolled his eyes. “But I’m headed to bed.”

“Hold up a minute.” Rocket padded to his cupboard, pulled out two glasses and a bottle filled with glowing blue liquid. He started to pour.

“Rocket, I think it’s too late for this,” Peter said, sounding tired.

“Oh relax, it ain’t like we got nowhere to be anway tomorrow. Just sit with me awhile.” The last words came out pleading, and Peter picked up on it. The humie had gotten a little too good these past three months at picking up on Rocket’s feelings. He hadn’t decided whether that was good or bad yet. Peter sat down at the work bench and took the glass. After a sip, he blanched, downed the whole thing in one go, then coughed out, “What is this? It sucks ass! It’s like cleaning solution and lightning mixed together.”

Rocket took another sip, and said seriously, “Well to me it tastes more like fuel, and I ain’t exactly sure that it’s not fuel, but it seems safe enough.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Rocket, where did you find this?”

“Same place I got the guns. It was just sitting in one of the cabinets. I can’t read the label, but it doesn’t feel like we’re dying, not yet anyway.” Peter just stared at Rocket’s face, which was completely blank for thirty seconds. Rocket eventually broke into a smile, then said “Ah come on Quill, you know I’m joking.” Peter had not known that; a fact that Rocket was totally aware of. It was too easy to mess with the humie. “Here, I’ll pour you another to make up for it.” Peter grimaced, but accepted the offered glass.

Three drinks later and both were feeling a bit tipsy. Peter had offered to put on some tunes, but Rocket refused; he’d let Peter do that a few times before, but he just wasn’t feeling good right now. Rocket had been edging toward a thought that had haunted him for awhile. “So, you really don’t mind being a weapon?”

“Rocket, I,” Peter stopped, ran a hand through his hair, then sputtered, “I mind, but it’s just, it’s not the only thing I am.”

Rocket stared down into his glass, and sighed. “That’s what it is. I got friends, a family,” Rocket chuckles bitterly, “Never thought I’d have that. And everything is just peachy when I’m with you guys. During a mission, I might complain, still like it though. But in the dark, in the quiet—I’m nocturnal! Why does it bother me?” His tale drooped, and he choked out, “In the dark, I’m still just a weapon, that’s all.” He must have looked like something bad—maybe Peter saw the tears—because this was the first and only time Peter grabbed him without asking.

“Qui—Peter what the flark are you doing?” Normally he’d be biting right and left and scratching left and right, but after a few seconds he just relaxed into the hug.

“Rocket, even if you’re a weapon, you’re not a weapon to me; you’re my buddy! You can be good, bad, a bit of both, but when you’re here with me, I don’t think of you as a weapon. You’re my friend. You chose to come for me when I was trapped with Ego.” Peter stopped talking and rubbed circles on Rockets back for a few minutes, before he whispered softly, “I saw the number of jumps you made on the ship’s log. You could have died. You didn’t have to.”

Rocket replied, “Course I had to. You’re useless without me.” Rocket just breathed against Peter’s neck until he calmed down. Peter’s hair was surprisingly soft, and for once he didn’t want to escape. Eventually Peter let him go and Rocket looked up into Peter’s wet eyes. He noticed they were green; how had he never noticed that?

Eventually Peter spoke softly, “Let’s go up to the flight deck and watch the stars. You bring the bottle.” Rocket expected Peter to start walking, but he waited until Rocket had the bottle in his hands. Peter extended his hand, then said, “Come on Rocket, hop up, I got you.” Rocket had never sat on Quill except during battles, so this was new, probably a good new. “Just don’t leave any new scratches. I already need to repair my jacket.”

Rocket spluttered out, “Screw you Quill,” but then stopped, and in a quiet voice said, “I’ll be careful, Peter.” Rocket climbed up the offered arm, and found a good position across Peter’s shoulders. His shoulders weren’t as wide as Groot’s so it was harder, but Rocket still felt comfortable.

 

 

They were in their respective pilot seats and passing the bottle back and forth, or rather throwing it; Rocket’s arms weren’t long enough just to grab it. By this point, Rocket was drunk, and by the look of Peter’s blush, he was too, but Rocket was having a good time. He hadn’t felt so relaxed and safe in a long time. Rocket had opened up, and he felt free, almost like when he was pulling a trigger. He was smiling when he noticed Peter had rolled his face to the right and was staring at him with a smirk, “What ya lookin at, Peter?”

Peter chuckled, then said, “Just you. Ya look happy.” After a few moments of awkward eye contact, Peter continued, “I like seeing you happy. It’d been awhile.” Peter rolled his head back to look at the stars. “Did you look at the stars when you were on Halfworld?”

“Yeah, they let us ‘specimens’,” doing his best airquotes this time, “into the yard for exercise. Everything there was horrible, but I knew there was something, just flarking something out there in those tiny lights. It weren’t necessarily a good place, but it wasn’t that krootakin place.”

Peter was silent for a few minutes, before speaking, “I get that. When my mom was in the hospital I’d stand outside at night and stare up imagining somewhere else. I didn’t imagine this, but I’m glad I’m here.”

Rocket hesitated, the stars were passing by, and he didn’t need to say anything, but before he could stop himself he said, “Me too, Starlord. I’m glad I met you.” Rocket immediately buried his eyes in his paws. He couldn’t believe he’d said that, much less called Peter Starlord twice in as many hours.

Peter just nodded, then slurred, “Rocket, why don’t you come over to my chair. If you’re up for it, I’d like another hug.”

Rocket wasn’t sure, but Peter seemed to need it, and maybe he did too. He hopped off his chair, padded, maybe stumbled over, and stood before Peter’s chair. “You’re not worried about scratches on your coat, Stardork?” This time, the old insult didn’t really seem like an insult to either of them. Peter shook his head then gestured for Rocket to jump up. Rocket took a leap and landed on Peter’s lap, before wrapping his arms around Peter’s torso. “There, ya happy?”

“Yeah,” whispered Peter as he gently wrapped his arms across the back of Rocket’s orange jumpsuit. After a few minutes Peter broke the silence by drunkenly mumbling, “Would you like it if I bought you a gun?”

“Happier if you stole it for me.”

“All right, Rocket.” Rocket stayed awake, holding on to Peter as he drifted off into a drunken slumber. That last question had meant something, and surprisingly he liked it. It was a warm feeling in his chest slowly spreading up to his face. After about ten minutes, Rocket squirmed around, and pulled a flap of Peter’s leather jacket over himself. He kept Peter’s arms around him.

Peter seemed to awaken for a second, worried, and asked sleepily, “Where ya going?”

“Nowhere Peter, nowhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm experimenting with writing, and I welcome any constructive criticism. This piece was challenging, both because it was longer than the previous two pieces, and because it contained more active scenes, but it was a lot of fun to write. I've definitely gone dark with the Guardians of the Galaxy stories, but it's because I think they're dark stories. One planet ending threat, then two months later a galaxy ending threat? That's a nightmare! How do the characters react to this? I'm going try pure fluff next with Rocket and Quill, so stay tuned!


End file.
